slip to humiliate the old woman. Martha's open
denunciation of the dressmaker's vinegar tongue had
only increased the outspoken dislike each had for the
other. She saw now, to her delight, that the incident
which had seemed to be only a bit of flotsam that
had drifted to her shore and which but from Martha's
manner would have been forgotten by her the
next day, might be a fragment detached from some
floating family wreck. Before she could press the
matter to an explanation Martha turned abruptly
on her heel, called Meg, and with the single remark,
"Well, I guess Miss Jane's of age," walked quickly
across the grass-plot and out of the gate, the ball and
chain closing it behind her with a clang.

Once on the street Martha paused with her brain
on fire. The lie which Lucy had told frightened her.
She knew why she had told it, and she knew, too,
what harm would come to her bairn if that kind of
gossip got abroad in the village. She was no longer
the gentle, loving nurse with the soft caressing hand,
but a woman of purpose. The sudden terror aroused
in her heart had the effect of tightening her grip
and bracing her shoulders as if the better to withstand
some expected shock.

She forgot Meg; forgot her errand to the post-office;
forgot everything, in fact, except the safety
of the child she loved. That Lucy had neglected and
even avoided her of late, keeping out of her way